


The Noise of Saltwater

by voleuse



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-14
Updated: 2005-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Untested by the waters of evil, just auditioning</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Noise of Saltwater

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Nikita's early training. Title and summary adapted from Kenneth Rosen's _The Moon Last Night_.

_And once they found her twenty feet up  
Hugging the bulb of a street lamp.  
          She had never slept so close to the moon -  
She dreamed that she could graze the cusp,  
Press her face against its glow._

Nikita doesn't remember if she's ever seen the ocean before.

Certainly not in recent memory, a year and a half of grueling training. Before that, her brief stint in prison, and before that, a few years scrounging what she could on the streets.

She stands on the porch, facing the waves, and breathes deep the scent of salt and sand.

It's beautiful.

*

 

It's all part of her training. Within Section One's center, she's been drilled in combat, comms, and code. Contrivance, however, is more difficult to teach in a regulated environment. They've dressed up rooms, disguised other operatives, but it's time now for Nikita to have a bit of verisimilitude.

_We have to ensure_, Madeline had told her, _you can perform under less optimal conditions_.

Nikita had interpreted "less optimal" as gritty, uncomfortable. She'd braced herself for pain.

They'd blindfolded her, driven for hours, and dumped her on a cement floor.

Once the car was gone, she'd yanked off her bindings and been surprised to be sitting in a garage. Stumbling to her feet, she'd entered the house and found Michael in the kitchen, pouring her a cup of tea.

*

 

The sun is setting. When a breeze winds around her, she shivers from the chill.

The curtains behind her rustle. She tilts her head, recognizing Michael a moment before he drapes a shawl around her bare shoulders.

His hands are warm against her skin. When he bends his head to whisper in her ear, she manages to suppress another shiver.

"Are you ready?" he asks. "We shouldn't be late."

There's a clatter, farther down the beach, then the thrum of a too-loud stereo carries over the rushing waves.

She smiles. "Sounds like the party's already starting."

He steps back, releases her shoulders. "No weapons."

Nikita raises an eyebrow. "Will we need them?"

He lifts a shoulder, half-shrugging. Then, bracing his hands on the railing of their porch, he springs lightly over the fence and onto the sand.

"Show off," she mutters, and follows him.

*

 

_You'll be attending a party_, Madeline had told her. _Your objective will be to obtain a disk containing vital information about a rival organization._

Nikita had flipped through the folder in front of her, frowning at the scant information.

_Am I going in alone?_ she'd asked. _Is this a real op?_

Madeline had smiled.

But she hadn't told her anything.

*

 

It seems like everyone within a five-mile radius has been invited to tonight's party.

She's not supposed to make contact with the hosts, and given the press of bodies within the house, Nikita thinks it's unlikely she'll get the chance.

Under the pretense of getting something to drink, she and Michael squeeze past a chattering group and into the living room, which is also filled to capacity. There are speakers in here, too, and above the music, it's difficult to hear anything softer than a shout.

Nikita surveys the room, which is occupied by several college students, dancing, flipping quarters into shot glasses, and cheering each other on. On the edge of a sofa, two girls sprawl together, oblivious to anything but their own hands, mouths. Nikita averts her gaze respectfully, and finds another couple, in a darker corner--

"Oh!" Her eyes widen, and she swivels to face away from them, colliding against Michael's chest in the process.

"Everything all right?" he asks her, his mouth pulling into a smile.

"Michael," she hisses, pressing closer against him to disguise her distress, "are all these people innocents?"

He looks around the room again, his glance skipping over the cheering group, the groping couples. "So to speak."

"Then what are we doing here?" Nikita frowns.

He places a hand on her hip, sways slightly to the beat. "Look again," he tells her.

She falls into the dance as well, letting him twirl her in a pirouette. And through a doorway, she sees an older group, more conservatively dressed than the lightly-clad college students. They're in deep conversation, seemingly oblivious to the raucous shouts of the other guests. One man's jacket flaps open, briefly, and Nikita catches a glimpse of a gun.

Her attention snaps back to Michael.

"You see?"

She nods.

He bends closer to her. "The disk will be in library upstairs. You remember the layout?"

She nods again, and at her affirmation, Michael pulls away and meanders to the other side of the room. He procures a beer from the cooler and leans against the wall.

Nikita shimmies across the floor, switching from one partner to another. She tosses her hair, giggles, and flirts outrageously. She accepts a wine cooler from one of her new friends, and lets him lead her up the stairs and to a bedroom.

*

 

When next she meets Michael, it's at their bungalow, back on the porch. The moon is bright, high above them, and the ocean the only music to be heard. She's crouched in the sand by the steps, her arms wrapped around her knees.

He strides across the sand, artfully disheveled and completely calm.

"Did you get it?" he asks without prelude.

She holds up the disk, flips it through the air.

Michael catches and pockets it. "Any problems?"

"Don't think so." She unwraps her arms, stretches, sprawls back. "Nobody saw me enter the library. Nobody saw me leave."

"And your friend?" His tone is mild. She can't read into it.

"Very, very drunk." She rolls onto her side, cranes her neck to look up. "I whacked him on the head and left him in bed. He'll probably blame the headache on his hangover, but otherwise he'll be fine."

Michael doesn't respond, and it worries her.

"He'll be fine," she repeats, mostly to herself.

He looks back down the beach, at the house he's just left. It's quiet now, and only a couple of rooms are still lit bright.

Nikita stands. "This was just a training exercise. Wasn't it?"

Michael walks past her, into the house. "Our transport should arrive in twenty minutes. Be ready."

The door clicks shut behind him.

Slowly, Nikita folds, until she's sitting again. She digs her fingers and toes into the sand, and stares up at the moon.

If she hears anything above the crash of the waves, she doesn't give any sign.

Her hands clutch into fists, and the moonlight beats down upon her.


End file.
